


Brace

by FadedSepia



Series: Brace [1]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Online Dating, Rom-com
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2018-12-30 08:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12104595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FadedSepia/pseuds/FadedSepia
Summary: Trowa Barton is pulled out of his comfortable existence and pushed into the world of dating by well-meaning friends and family. (I promise to get a better description going at some point!)Warnings are subject to change.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks: Heartfelt thanks to helmistress on tumblr for beta reading this, and to Claraxbarton and kangofu-cb for helping my wend my way back into the fandom.

When he’d woken up on Saturday, Trowa Barton had only had coffee, and perhaps a long shower, on his mind. He’d planned on heading to the bathroom – quickly, before Wufei got back from wherever he’d wound up and used all the hot water – plugging in the percolator, and lazily flipping through the community add pages while he sat on the couch with Heavy and waited for his coffee to brew. What he had not counted on was smacking solidly into a small, oddly sturdy body standing just outside his doorway.

Looking down onto a tousled blonde head, Trowa blinked. ‘ _Why is Quatre in my apartment at_ ,’ he glanced back at the clock, ‘ _nine o’clock on a Saturday.’_ “Is everything okay?”

“No, Trowa. It isn’t…” replied the muffled voice from the blonde currently face first into his bathrobe. The shorter man took a step backward. His face held none of its usual gentle acceptance this morning. The man who stood in his doorway was not his best friend Quatre. This was Q. R. Winner, Ph.D., Supervisory Research Technician at Winner Pharmaceuticals, intellectual mogul and corporate darling, third heir to the Winner fortune, thank you kindly, hold the applause. And he was not happy. “I had a long talk with Cathie last evening. Trowa, give me your phone.”

_‘Fuck. I knew I shouldn’t have…’_

The trouble had started on Friday, after Cathie had suggested that Trowa seemed just the slightest bit lonely. What had started innocently enough had turned into an hour-long call-rant about the merits of human contact and stepping outside of his ‘isolation bubble.’

Cathie had offered to set him up with a friend of hers from work. He’d muttered the politest words of dissent he could. She’d suggested he go to a singles’ mixer, just to ‘explore the possibilities.’ He’d told her he would be busy for the foreseeable future. She’d asked him why he was intent on spending his life as a misanthropic sad sack. And he’d _, ‘…hung up the phone.’_

And now, not even 12 hours later, this was happening. His friend was standing in his bedroom doorway, demanding his phone. His friend, who he’d stupidly set up two years ago with his older sister, was standing in his doorway, demanding his phone. His friend, who he’d stupidly set up two years ago with his older sister, who had clearly given him her spare key to Trowa’s apartment, was standing in his bedroom doorway, demanding his phone.

Had he been truly awake, Trowa might have tried speaking, even as his brain was screaming _‘Why?!_ ’ but he just wasn’t up to the task. He could hear his dog whining softly from somewhere out in the living room, and just knew she was doing the dance. And, now, he couldn’t get to her. Or the shower. Or his coffee! Overwhelmed, he took a slow step into the doorway, convinced that, somehow, he could make it to the kitchen, only to run into his friend’s palm.

Quatre was still blocking the hall, one hand on his hip, the other thrust forward to accept the requested device. Despite his stature, the blonde managed an amazingly serious glare, even when craning his neck upwards to level that gaze on Trowa. “Phone, now. Please?”

The please was, at best, perfunctory; at worst, mocking. And, puzzlingly, despite his height advantage, the brunette found himself effectively trapped in his own bedroom by a man who was barely more than five feet tall.

“Quatre…” _‘I could move you, if I felt like it!_ ’ He really hated confrontation, and didn’t want to start his morning in a fight with Quatre that, honestly, he wouldn’t win. Plus, Trowa knew that, the more time he spent out here, the more likely it was that Heavy would have an accident. Or that Wufei would get home while Heavy had an accident, and he’d get a few long-winded rants about why Wufei’s fish were clearly the superior pets. “Can we talk about this later? I have to let her out before she explodes.”

“Trowa, I really don’t think this can wait.” Quatre crossed his arms over his chest, still frowning. “Besides, I called Wufei on the way over, to make sure you would actually be here, and he said he’d be home any minute. I’m sure he will let her out.”

As if summoned by Quatre’s words, Trowa’s roommate decided to take that moment to step through the front door. Trowa could hear shuffling noises and Wufei muttering angrily in Chinese – Heavy must have tried to give him one of her welcome home kisses – then sliding sounds as the patio door opened and quickly closed.

Moments later, still clad in his clothes from the night before, and with a suspiciously bruised looking collarbone, Wufei rounded the corner. Groping one-handed in the linen closet, he waved drowsily at the two of them. “Morning Barton, Winner. I’ll be out in a sec.” Without so much as another word, Chang Wufei walked into their bathroom and locked the door.

 _‘No! He’s never in for ‘just a sec.’ He’s never even in there for just half an hour!’_ Trowa hissed out his breath between his teeth, shoulders slumping in defeat. He palmed the cellphone in his robe pocket. Mutely, he grabbed Quatre’s hand and dropped the device into it. The smaller man had the courtesy to step back as Trowa pushed past him, determined to at least get his coffee this morning.

Letting the dog back in to reclaim her favourite spot on the couch – and giving her a treat, Wufei and his insistence of no crumbs on the furniture be damned! – Trowa stomp-shuffled into the kitchen. He pulled out the coffee and began piling it into the percolator basket. “Not everyone has to be paired up, Quatre. Wufei is single, and you never pester him..!”

Quatre looked at his friend askance as he padded into the kitchen. “Wufei at least goes out once in a while…”

 _‘More like eats out all the time!’_ Trowa huffed as he put away the coffee tin. Nobody would have exactly called their mutual friend easy – he was acerbic, particular, and didn’t suffer stupidity – but Wufei was also never short on company… Even if the Chinese man couldn’t remember most of his partners’ names. Trowa snorted, plugging in the silver kettle that held the key to his daily functioning.

Quatre was hovering on the other side of the counter. He glanced alternately from the tiny screen in his hand up to Trowa. _‘He’s probably locking it so I can’t hang up on Catherine, again… Whatever.’_ If the two of them were hellbent on something, there really wasn’t any point to fighting it. He wasn’t going to win against their combined powers of sudden outbursts of anger, firm stubbornness, and tears.

“Trowa, when I say bunting, what do you think of?”

“Fat birds.” The answer was automatic. It was another moment before he finally focused on Quatre, wondering aloud, “Why?”

“I’m signing you up for a dating service, well as a candidate for a dating service, really, and I wasn’t sure how you’d answer that question.”

“A what?”

“Well, it’s more of a match-making service, but Najiba recommended it. You have to sign up first to meet with an interviewer though, but I already paid for your subscription.” This was accompanied by a flippant hand wave as the smaller man paced in a circle beside the counter. “They do all the matching by hand, too, and it’s a local business, isn’t that great-?”

“Quatre, why do I need a matchmaking service? Look, I’ll just go out an meet people on my own and-“

“No, Trowa, you won’t. I’ve known you for seven years, Wufei’s known you longer, we talked about this over the phone, and we both know that you will just sit in the park with your dog and sigh at happy couples! We are trying to help.”

“Now I’m no dating expert – a certain friend of mine –“ Quatre’s smirk to him was almost painful, “set me up with his sister. But I think you might like going out. And ‘Fei agrees that a date would do you some good.”

“And you’re suggesting that, like Wufei, I should become… similarly accompanied?”

“No, Trowa; this isn’t some hookup, swipe-up-for-yes sort of thing.  I don’t think you need to be a… a booty call,” Despite his attempts at verbal discretion, Quatre’s blush deepened. The blonde’s gaze drifted surreptitiously towards the window. “But... Cathie’s worried. And when Cathie’s worried, she doesn’t relax, and then I can’t relax. I’m asking you, as a friend-“

“A friend who threatens me before coffee and keeps me from a hot shower?” From his defensive location beside the now hissing percolator, and with the smell of coffee slowly filling the kitchen, Trowa felt more cogent, and brave enough to be difficult.

“Then as a future big-brother in-law-”

“I’m bigger than you are.” He would not make this easy, no matter how much he didn’t actually hate Quatre right now.

“Yes, but I’m older and – damnit! – Trowa, just try talking to someone? Maybe go out on one date? Please?” Perching on the breakfast bar stool, Quatre ran his hands through his hair with a sigh. The gesture did nothing to tame his messy, too fine strands, which promptly fell back into his face. It did, however, give him something to do while he thought.

“Listen Trowa, I can’t promise you that it won’t be awful, but I can tell you that it might actually be fun.” With the stern approach not working, the sweet, calm façade was back in place. “If it is terrible, you can use it as an excuse for Cathie. You’ll have tried, I’ll have helped by paying for it; that will get her off both our backs.”

Trowa only shrugged; he was busy pouring himself a cup of coffee. Out of habit, he poured a second one and handed it over to Quatre. He realized – _‘Too late!’_ – that the gesture might have been seen as accepting.

Quatre jumped at the chance, quickly setting the coffee down and grasping Trowa’s now empty hand. “And, if it’s great, you’ll actually have something to do on the weekends besides play games, complain to me about your failed recipes-“ He ignored Trowa’s indignant huff. “- and tell Wufei’s priors that he’s not here.”

“I do other things… I spend my weekends with Heavy, too.”

From her spot on the couch, Heavy looked back at him at the mention of her name, trotting up to the breakfast bar to lean into Quatre’s leg. He absently petted her head, scratching behind one mangled ear.

“Trowa, Heavy is a very sweet dog, but she is a dog. She’s not a romantic companion… I mean, she shouldn’t be, but some people are strange. Not that I think you would... you know, but you’re awfully devoted to her, and you never leave the house except for work, and-“

Trowa’s mug was too loud as it hit the counter. “Fine.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really, just never imply that I might be trying to… to romance my dog, again.”

It was disturbing, to see Quatre practically beaming after what he’d just said. “Wonderful! I’ve set your profile all up, we just need a picture for it.”

Trowa wasn’t sure what Quatre had smoked before he came over, but Cathie needed to confiscate and hide it forever. He looked down at his sleep rumpled pyjama bottoms – plaid, with fraying cuffs – at his ugly bathrobe, and then back up at Quatre. “You want to take my picture. Now?”

“Oh. Oh, right…” The older man chewed his bottom lip a moment. “Hang on- hang on!”

Trowa rolled his eyes as his friend ran back to his bedroom. Rounding the counter, he picked up Quatre’s abandoned cup of coffee, adding three spoons of sugar. _'Perfect!'_ He eased back onto the sofa, sighing as Heavy followed and tried to worm her way into his lap. Helping her up on the couch next to him – she was trying her best, but it was hard with three legs – he kept drinking, idly petting her head.

He was almost done with the cup by the time a pile of his, and what he was certain were some of his Wufei’s, dress shirts and sweaters walked back into the living room. Quatre must have been behind it – yes, there were his legs! – but the pile topped his head.

“I am not trying all of that on.” Trowa leaned back further into the corner of the sofa, slurping loudly just to annoy his friend. “Pick one.”

The coffee table loosed a forlorn squeak as the massive pile landed atop it. Now Quatre’s pout was clearly visible, even over the clothes. “B-but… Can’t we at least try?”

He made a point of hiding behind his hair, mug covering his mouth, as with one emerald eye he stared the blonde down. “One.”

It was at least mildly amusing, watching as Quatre cursed, fretted, and threw clothes everywhere. Trowa rolled his eyes, looking down at his lap as Heavy laid her head across his thigh. He could faintly make out the sound of Wufei’s singing over Quatre’s invective. Whatever else this turned out to be, it would be interesting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Quatre and Catherine have words, Wufei is unamused, and Trowa says almost nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this is a Quatre/Catherine-centric chapter. It is not necessary to read this for the rest of the story. This chapter exists because of encouragement from kangofu-cb and gw-ficrecfriday to keep going on a 4xC.
> 
> As always, I owe helmistress for taking time out of her schedule to beta-read this.

Quatre startled as Catherine opened the door. He usually opened it for her, but he’d been adrift in his own thoughts as he waited at the end of the road past the ranch’s stable. He took her purse, tucking it behind her seat.

She leaned in to kiss his cheek as she pulled the door shut. “How’d it go this morning?”

“It… could have been _worse_.” Though, to tell truly, not by very much…

~|~|~

“My clothes won’t even _fit_ him, Winner! He’ll look terrible in- give me that!”

“Fine, take it!” Quatre relinquished his hold on the navy, v-neck sweater, which Wufei promptly threw into the pile he was sorting out for his own clothes. “They may not fit him, but they will fit you. Put some clothes _on_ Wufei! Please!?”

“I’ll wear what I want in my own home!” Another shirt – a wine-red button down – sailed over Wufei’s shoulder and into the pile. He hitched up the towel around his hips, pushing wet hair back behind his ears before reaching back to dig through the pile Quatre had dumped on the coffee table.

“B-but you’re only wearing a towel! And you’re covered in… well, i-in…” _‘I don’t even know how you got so many-‘_

“Hickeys, Quatre: He’s covered in hickeys.” Trowa gave him a tiny salute with his coffee. The blonde couldn’t see his friend’s mouth, but he knew there was a smirk behind that coffee mug.

Wufei grumbled about boundaries beside him, and Quatre sighed. He probably _shouldn’t_ have gone into the other man’s closet without permission, but he hadn’t expected Wufei to be upset enough to drop everything – with the blessed exception of the towel – and try to take back his clothes.

Quatre just kept wishing he’d also grabbed some of Wufei’s pants.

“Wufei, will you please get dressed?”

“Am I making you uncomfortable, _Winner_.” Wufei wasn’t exactly tall, especially not compared to Trowa, but he had a good half a head on Quatre. He stood, now with a blue polo shirt in hand, and used every bit of that height as he leaned in close to the other man.

 _‘Oh, crap.’_ The dark-haired man was near enough that Quatre could smell his soap. He froze. _‘Please don’t yell, please don’t yell, please-‘_

“Do you not like me in your personal space, Winner?” The icy edge in his voice was, on reflection, actually worse than the yelling; especially with the low volume and close proximity of its delivery.

Quatre nodded.

“Then I suppose we’re _almost_ even.” Wufei picked up his small pile of shirts, shooting Quatre a final glare, and made his way down the hall to the continued sound of cursing. It was probably a merciful thing that Quatre’s grasp of languages didn’t extend too far into Chinese, barely more than _xie xie_ , but these insults came from a smattered of others, as well; English, French, Urdu – what he could have sworn was Euskara? – and, somehow, Wufei even managed to throw a few one-handed insult gestures in for good measure.

~|~|~

“- and Trowa was so angry by the time I left that I really don’t think it went well at all. I mean, I got his profile picture up, but –“ Quatre heard a hitching breath from the seat beside him, only the woman in the seat beside him wasn’t crying. “It’s not funny, Catherine!”

“It is pretty f-funny… Especially the part about Wufei and the towel!” She grinned back at him, giggling at his expense. After a moment, though, her laughter turned a little wheezey, and she coughed roughly.

“Cathie, are you alright?”

I’m-” Catherine shook her head, bending forward in her seat as the coughing began, again. He could see her reaching back for her purse, one hand still over her mouth as she groped blindly beneath the car seat. “I’m f-fine!”

“Where’s your spare puffer?” Turning to the console between their seats, Quatre rummaged through the glovebox. When they had first started seeing each other, it hadn’t been an issue, but he’d been insistent on keeping one around – _‘Just in case!’_ – on the off chance that something like this happened. He’d never used one himself, but had become an expert in the past few months of when, how, and where to keep them so that they were never more than arm’s reach away. At least, that was the plan, but that hadn’t involved digging through so many take-away napkins – _‘I really shouldn’t be eating so much fast food…’_ – before his hand closed around the inhaler. “Here!”

Catherine batted his hand away; having retrieved her usual inhaler from her purse. She was already holding her breath to keep the suspension in, the little plastic tube making its way back into the fabric black hole from which it had come. “I’m not an invalid, Quatre. It’s just-” Another deep breath, and she cleared her throat. “It’s just a bad day.”

 _‘And yet here you were out with the horses, lovey.’_ On the ranking list of days, _difficult_ or _trying_ were always preferable to _bad_ ; the last _bad_ day hadn’t been since the cookout a month before when he’d had caught the steaks on fire. Quatre sighed as the engine turned over, pulling the little blue coupe off of the gravel and back onto the main road, giving Cathie time to catch her breath and adjust her belt before he spoke. “You could have asked Bonnie to cover your lessons for the day.”

“Today was my under ten day; the little ones don’t handle change well, and most of them are already nervous enough on a horse.” She shrugged, head canted just to the one side, and he marvelled a moment at how she was so like, and yet so different from, her younger brother. “Besides, I don’t get paid if I don’t teach, Quat.”

And there it was, the start on a path they’d trod so many times already, but one he couldn’t seem to avoid. “Catherine, you know you don’t have to worry about working-”

“No.” His eyes were on the road, but he could see her in his periphery, arms crossed, jaw tight. “I won’t have you paying for me. I don’t need you to take care of me, Quatre.”

 _‘But what if I want to?’_ He settled lower into his seat, letting the road take his attention for a time, resigned. It wasn’t a long distance back to the house, but the roads in the old county hadn’t ever run straight, so there weren’t exactly very many short trips. The curved paths and occasional treed tunnels and holloways were more pleasant focal points than the woman he loved seething in the seat next to him.

“You take care of enough as it is. You even drove all the way out here to pick me up… And your commute is so far. Maybe we should move closer to the city proper.”

“No.” He shook his head, taking a moment of straight road to actually look at her. “You’d be further from work, then. And you’d have to transfer busses, and that’s so much on you-“

“Of course!” Her hands flew into the air before she brought them back down to smack onto her legs. “Because I’m just so completely helpless!

“I don’t think you ar-“

Catherine cut him off before he could finish, volume rising. “Then why do you keep insisting on helping me with everything? I didn’t always _need_ help, you know?”

“But if you need it _now_ -”

“I don’t have to like it, Quatre!”

“No, but…” This was the moment, and it might put him sleeping in the office for the week if he couldn’t get his tone right, “… it would be stupid _not_ to accept help when you actually need it.”

She didn’t answer, and, glancing over, he could see that her eyes were fixed on trees zipping past on the road. Her arms pulled in tighter across her chest, as if she were trying to give herself an uncomfortably close hug.

“I’m not your brother you know.”

“Obviously.”

“What I mean, Kitty-” It was a gamble, calling her that when she was _this_ angry with him, but he’d learned to push any advantage he had in hostile situations. Surviving a household full of older sisters, as well as the regular entertaining excrement extravaganza1 that was wackademia2, had further honed his pragmatism. “- is that I’m not doing this out of some misplaced guilt. This isn’t because of the accident, or because I owe you, or feel like I have to out of duty. I want to try to make things easier for you because I love you, you know?”

Silence.

_‘Crap.’_

On any other day, he might have debated splitting the couch with Heavy, but that option was currently so far off the table it was in another room entirely. He could stay at a hotel, but he probably wouldn’t be sleeping too soundly, and it would be a waste to pay tourist pricing this time of year. Better to just go back to work and put his impending insomnia to a more useful purpose than staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling. _‘I think Abdul still has that old air-mattress in the lab closet, and I can sleep in my gym clothes. The emergency shower on the third floor still works, and, even if it’s only cold, I can-‘_

His thoughts were interrupted by movement, just on his periphery, and then something lightly brushing over the back of his hand. Catherine’s slim fingers had found and were sliding between his own. He adjusted his arm to be closer to her, resting against the side of her thigh. He must not have screwed up too terribly, after all. Quatre thanked what little luck he had that he’d switched off of a manual transmission as his thumb brushed across her knuckles3.

It was another few miles before she answered, voice a strained whisper. “I know. I just don’t like the idea of owing someone.”

“You won’t owe me, Kitty… and I don’t mean to be a pest.” His arm was starting to tingle, and he adjusted his grasp, sliding his hand back under hers. “I’m just trying to _do_ something to contribute in this relationship…”

“You do _plenty_ , Qua-“

“I can’t cook.” _'At all.'_

“Well… no. No, you can’t, but-“

“Or do home repairs.” They had tried, spring before last, to redo their dining room, to horrid results, and he never _had_ gotten the plaster properly done.

“You did _try_ -“

“You all but banned me from the garden…”

“Well, you…” She shook her head, lifting her free hand to her chin. “You killed rosemary, Quatre, and… Truthfully, I’m still not sure how you did _that_ , but, hmm.”

“I can mow the lawn, vacuum, and iron; and those are all basically the same thing with different objects4. I just… sometimes I feel like I’m more trouble than not, and… well, it’s not like you didn’t have your life in order before, but…” His voice wavered as he pulled up into the drive, releasing her hands to put the car in park.

“Quat…” Cool fingers cupped his cheek, turning him toward her, tipping his face up a bit. Her other hand stroked along his jaw as she leaned her forehead to touch his. “You’re right. I don’t _need_ you around to do those sorts of things for me-”

“But I want to! I mean… I just want to make things perfect for you.” Quatre pulled back, scrubbing across his face with his sleeve. He sniffled. “Sometimes I feel like you just keep me around to be arm candy.”

If he’d not been buckled, Quatre would have found himself pulled full body across the centre console; as it was, he found himself awkwardly leaned across to the passenger seat, face pressed against his lover’s collarbone. Catherine was pressing her cheek against the top of his head, and he could feel her hands rubbing across his back. “You’re not.”

“You promise I’m not arm candy?” He fought the urge to wipe his eyes, again, but couldn’t stop the hitching wheeze. Usually, _he_ was the one being the emotional support, but between this morning, and not sleeping the night before, added to the concern at his impotence with Catherine earlier… It was nice, for once, to be the huggee instead of the hugger. 

“Not _just_ arm candy…” Catherine was still holding him, and he could feel her headshake against the top of his head, her voice sincere.

“You promise you don’t just keep me around because I’m cute?” There was still a semi-desperate edge to his voice, even in this attempt to be playful.

“Of course not.” She kissed his ear, voice a bare whisper. “Who else can protect me from the mayflies?”

Quatre wondered, in the brief moment before he dissolved into a fit of ugly cry laughter, if he wasn’t secretly trapped in the arms of an absurdist. Of course, she _was_ right: Nothing could get Catherine squealing and flailing her hands more quickly than a swarm. He shook his head and pulled back from her then, returning her light kiss. “Well, I suppose that is something…”

“I don’t need perfect, Quat, but you know I love you for trying.” She reached back down to grab hold of his hand, squeezing firmly.

They’d been sitting, the car idling, but it was probably better, he thought, to keep that sort of negative energy out here, instead of in the house. With enough memories of arguments growing up, Quatre really didn’t want to think about conflict in _their_ home, as well. Which brought up a strange thought, and the question of, “Catherine, is this out first fight?”

“Hmm.” He could never tell her how cute the furrows over her nose were when she was thinking. “I think our _first_ fight was about Pierrot.”

“Right…” That dog had _hated_ him. Even now, they still couldn’t agree on getting a pet together. Catherine and Trowa just seemed to be dog people, _‘but I’ve always just felt more comfortable around-‘_

Catherine quirked a brow as her boyfriend once more dissolved into giggles in the seat beside her. Quatre was nearly bent double, head resting on the steering wheel as he shook.

“Quat?”

“Yes!” Had he just snorted? He waved his hand dismissively, then gave her a quick thumbs-up, indicating that he was fine. He rested his head on the steering wheel, taking a few deep breaths. “Sorry, sorry, but… Kitty, we just had an argument, right?”

“Yes...?” Now she looked genuinely worried, clasping his single hand in both of hers.

“Well, if you’re Kitty, and I’m Quat, when we argue, does that make it a… a _cat_ fight?”

“You…”

Even though he had curled up with giggles, he couldn’t defend himself from her fingers. It was like fighting against a dozen hands, all intent on getting to him. He flailed, caught by the seatbelt in his escape attempt. “No! Not the tickles! That’s not fighting fair!”

“You may be a Winner, but _I_ will be victorious!”

“Stop!” His laughter had gone straight past tears to coughing, and Quatre was in no position to get away. “I can’t… can’t breathe.”

Her fingers paused, hovering just around his midsection. “I dunno… after that comment, I think you need a bit more _pun_ ishment.”

“Ow, oh, fair maiden I am slain.” Still giggling, Quatre shook his head and tried to clear his throat. “I surrender to your biting wit.”

Catherine grinned as she leant forward, lifting his hand to her lips. She kissed the back of it, nuzzling her way up to his wrist. “I’m not biting… yet.”

Quatre just barely managed to turn the engine off before both of his hands became pleasantly occupied.

~|~|~

It didn’t usually take this long to get his tie off, but he was still somewhat dazed, happy little tremors making his fingers less steady. Quatre couldn’t help blushing as he saw his reflection in the closet door mirror. _‘Maybe I shouldn’t have been so judgemental of ‘Fei.’_

“Oh… hon, we skipped the grocery!” Catherine’s voice echoed up the stairs. “What do you want to do for dinner.”

“Well, how about Smackwater’s?” It had only been a month of dating before Catherine had learned the truth; he had apps for every nearby restaurant that delivered right on his home screen.

“Sounds good!”

He finally managed to get the cursed length of silk off, shucking his socks and belt, as well, as he sat back on the edge of the bed. Sitting made the tiny buttons easier, for some reason. ‘ _Well, for obvious reasons, but-’_ He could feel his ears getting warmer, but was interrupted when Catherine yelled up the stairwell, again.

“Quatre?” He could hear the confusion, underlain with anger, as she spoke. “Why are all your dress shirts on the kitchen floor? They’re getting all wrinkled, and they’re covered in… I think it’s baby powder..? No, it’s cornstrach!”

The blonde man stood, opening the closet door in confusion. All of Catherine’s blouses, bottoms, and skirts were where they should be, as were all of his pants, and even the few t-shirts he bothered to hang up. The entire row of dress shirts, however, was missing, leaving a large empty space in the cedar-lined closet. “Does Trowa still have a spare key?”

“Yes… “

 _‘Passive aggression at its finest.’_ He just hoped they had enough washing powder. “Never mind, Cathie… I’ll clean that up after we order.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 – Entertaining Excrement Extravaganza (or E3), is a family in-joke way of saying Shit Show that doesn’t involve actually saying shit.  
> 2 – Stolen directly from my dad; a phrase he uses to refer to all of the regular BS that goes on in a university work setting.  
> 3 – In my brain, the Chrysler Imperial and Ford Shelby had a baby and that’s what Quatre is driving.  
> 4 – This is lifted directly from Mel and Christy's 5x2 fic called "Reunion." In it, Quatre was shit at any cleaning that couldn’t be linked to war planning: Duo taught him how to vacuum by comparing it to a search pattern. I like to think that, even AU, Quatre is bad at non-search pattern chores.


End file.
